Chapter 5
976 Words
The train screeches to a stop. It isn’t my destination yet, but the man pressing a knife against my ribs orders, “Get up. We’re getting off here.”
I know enough about kidnappings to understand I shouldn’t let them move me somewhere else, but what choice do I have? The second guy stands in front of me, hand tucked into his jacket as if gripping a gun. Another hovers beside me, close enough for me to smell his sweat and feel his heat.
I rise slowly. Ahead, a crowd is pressing toward the doors, shoving and muttering. Maybe I can use that. Maybe I can slip away. Or maybe I’m about to get myself killed.
I grab my bag and start moving. The man beside me stays close, but I shift aside, letting a tall man behind me pass. For a second, the knife’s pressure disappears, and air floods my lungs like relief. But the man in front shoots me a look, one that promises I’ll regret trying anything stupid.
We inch closer to the doors. Soon, I’ll have to step out. My fingers snap around the tall man’s sleeve, a silent plea for help. Like a typical rude Russian, he jerks his arm free and shoves me back.
“Who are you grabbing?” he snarls, eyes flashing with disgust. Probably hates foreigners.
I’d hoped he might help, but I’ve only made a scene. Every head in the carriage turns. Fine. Let them look. Maybe they won’t risk shooting if there are witnesses. It’s a stupid hope, but I’ll take it.
I drop my bag and bolt deeper into the train.
Their footsteps thunder behind me, fast and determined. The clang of boots on metal echoes through the narrow car. My heart pounds in my throat. I’m not a fast runner, but if I can make it to the next train before they catch up, I might stand a chance.
Lucky for me, I’m blonde, same as half the crowd pouring through the station. Maybe I can disappear among them.
I burst through the next door into an evening crowd thick with damp coats and the smell of rain. People shove past, umbrellas dripping. The men don’t yell, they don’t have to. Their eyes stay locked on me, predatory and cold.
A metallic voice crackles through the loudspeakers, announcing the next train. I push forward, shoving through bodies, earning curses I barely hear. My pulse drums louder than the noise around me.
As soon as I jump into the next carriage, a hand clamps around my arm and yanks me back.
“Let me go!” I scream, twisting my hand up. I bite down hard on his hand, the taste of sweat and blood fills my mouth. He yells and releases me, and I lunge forward into the train.
But the doors don’t slide shut like they do in movies. They stay open. The men charge after me again.
Then luck shifts. A security officer steps into the carriage. The kidnappers freeze, exchange quick glances, and back out.
They stare at me as the doors close, their eyes promising this isn’t over. My chest heaves. Every nerve in me trembles with adrenaline. I can’t believe I got away.
The officer approaches and says something in Russian, holding out his hand. “Ticket.”
I don’t understand the words, but the gesture is clear. I shake my head, panting, trying to explain in English that the men outside are trying to take me.
“No ticket, no fare,” he says flatly, like it’s the only English phrase he knows.
I have no choice but to step off. The doors slide open again, and they’re waiting.
They grab me instantly, roughly shoving me forward.
The officer notices and strides toward us, shouting questions. They answer quickly, confident. Whatever they say makes him back off with only a warning. My heart sinks.
Before I can speak, the tall one wraps his hand around my shoulder and drives the knife into my back, not deep, but enough to make me wince and gasp.
Tears blur my vision. I can’t get away. They’re going to take me, right here, in a sea of people who don’t understand and don’t care. Faces pass. No one stops. Why would they? I’m nobody. Just another meaningless body in a world too busy to notice.
They start dragging me along when an old woman approaches, frowning, muttering questions at them in Russian.
Maybe it’s my tears, maybe pity, it doesn’t matter. I seize the moment. “Help me!” I cry, turning to her, letting my face crumple into a pathetic mess of tears and snot. “Please, they’re kidnappers!”
They shove the granny aside, and the one holding me snarls, “Stop crying, you b***h, and move faster, or I really will kill you here.”
My shoulders tense. I can’t let them take me out of this station. I can’t.
The stairs loom closer, soon I’ll be dragged up and out, then shoved into some black car leading to nowhere good. That’ll be the end for trash like me. But even trash fights to survive.
“Let me go,” I whisper, begging. “I won’t run, but you’re drawing attention.”
They know they are, but do they care?
“Just shut up,” the one on my left growls. “Jeez, I’m going to hit you once I can.”
That kind of promise sends ice racing through my veins, and somehow, it ignites me. My elbow shoots back and slams into his nose. He curses and stumbles, his hand flying away from me, but the other one yanks me by the hair.
“You b***h,” he spits in Russian. These aren’t Craff’s men. They’re local. So what the hell do they want with me?
- Writer
